Merry Christmas, Baby
by Foreword
Summary: Another story of Chris Keller in the months before he is convicted and sentenced to spend 88 yrs in Oswald.  It's Christmas Eve; he's estranged from his wife and doesn't want to be alone.  As always, Keller lands on his feet.


Merry Christmas, Baby

_Merry Christmas baby, you surely treat me nice  
Merry Christmas baby, you surely treat me nice  
I feel just like I'm living in paradise_

_ Sung by Bruce Springsteen_

_ Lyrics by Baxter & Moore_

Chris walked down the dingy hallway to his depressing little room. Christmas Eve and he was still in this fucking dump. When he'd found this place, he was down on his luck and only planning to stay for a week or two until he got some cash together and could afford something better. That had been two months ago and nothing, absolutely nothing that he had tried had worked out. If things didn't turn around soon, he'd have to think about looking for a job, a regular job. He laughed to himself at the thought: Chris Keller, working behind a desk. Or, more likely, with his pathetic qualifications, some retail counter for minimum wage.

Inside, he picked up the remote and started flipping through the channels. Nothing on but Christmas shit —Christmas movies, Christmas music, religious services, and holiday cartoons. _Did the television programmers really think that everyone was gung ho about this overblown holiday? What about people who were Jewish? Muslims? People who were losers like him, and had no one to celebrate anything at all with?_

He turned off the television and threw the remote in the general direction of the chair in the corner, where it promptly slid off the seat into the shadows beneath. Folding his arms behind his head, he stared at the yellowing water stains on the ceiling. Through the thin walls, he could hear Christmas carols on the radio of the room next door. He groaned and rolled over; burying his head under the thin pillow on the bed. The music followed him.

He jumped off the bed, grabbing his jacket and helmet. _Damned if I'm going to sit around this dump all night_.

Going through the lobby, he shook his head once again at the manger's pathetic attempts to decorate for the holidays. Thin strands of ancient garland were draped over the doorways. A tattered paper cutout of Santa Claus clung forlornly to the back of the door leading outside. A menorah, missing most of the candles, adorned the counter as a token of respect toward the old Jewish guy who'd lived in the room at the end of the hall since the place first opened. _Why does he even bother? Just makes the place look even more depressing._

Outside, he pulled on his heavy leather gloves and eyed his motorcycle. A light mixture of rain and snow was falling; it really wasn't a good night to be riding, especially with the old tires on his bike. But it was the only transportation available to him and he knew the feel of the cold wind on his face would help blow away the melancholy that was threatening to envelop him. He started out riding aimlessly, going down random streets, but before long, found himself on the highway—headed toward Bonnie's house. He hadn't seen her or heard from her in weeks, not since he'd taken her the money he owed her and she'd told him to stay away. He didn't hold any illusions that she'd changed her mind, but he needed a destination. It wouldn't hurt to take a ride down her street_. Besides, she's probably not even home. She always goes to see her bitch-of-a-sister on Christmas Eve so they can open presents before Midnight Mass. _

His bike went into a skid as he took the exit ramp for Bonnie's neighborhood. He managed to straighten it out, but his heart was pounding as he sat waiting for the light to change at the end of the ramp. The precipitation was now more snow than rain, and while it wasn't sticking to the road yet, it was creating a wet, slick surface that was certain trouble for two-wheeled vehicles. _Idiot. Not a good night to be riding._

Still he continued toward Bonnie's street, albeit slower than before. The streets were mostly empty of traffic; everyone was safe inside, beginning their holiday celebrations. He passed house after house decorated with bright lights, with overly decorated trees in picture windows and silhouettes of people moving behind them. Each one brought his mood down a little more. Chris wasn't a family man by any means. He hadn't seen a member of his own in years, and didn't miss them a bit. _Good riddance to bad rubbish._ He had pretty much been a loner all of his adult life. The fewer connections you had with people, the fewer opportunities to be disappointed. His relationships were usually brief and tempestuous.

As he approached Bonnie's apartment complex, he slowed down even more, scanning the rows of windows until he found her place. Just as he figured: only a few dim lights showing. She must be at her sisters. A wave of disappointment washed over him, followed by a wave of anger at himself for being such a sap. _It's not like she would have invited you in if she had been home. She would have tossed you out on your ass and told you to get lost, just like the last time._

In his anger, he gunned the engine on his bike and roared down the street, too fast for the conditions and definitely too fast for the curve coming up. He might have been fine, except for the Honda Pilot that was coming around the curve from the other direction, a little too far over on his side. He swerved to avoid it and ended up dumping the bike on its side. He slid through the slush building up to the side of the road and lay there for a moment, catching his breath and taking inventory. The bike was stalled on top of him and he was soaking wet from the slush underneath him, but nothing seemed to be broken.

He heard a car door slam and running feet. "Oh my god, are you okay?" He looked up to see a woman in a sheepskin coat and white hat peering down at him. She looked vaguely familiar. "I'm so sorry; I didn't see you until the last minute…."

"I think so," he grunted, trying to lift the bike up enough so he could slide out from under it. The woman tried ineffectually to help him. He managed to pull his legs out and tried to stand. The bottom leg, the one that had been lying in the slush, was so numb he couldn't feel it and buckled a little under his weight. The woman gave an exclamation of alarm and slid her arm under his to support him. He tipped the visor of his helmet up and took a deep breath of cold air.

"Wait, aren't you Bonnie's ex?" she asked, looking up at his face. He nodded, still trying to place her. "I'm Jenny; I live in the apartment below Bonnie. I used to see you come and go."

"Yeah, I remember," he said, although he didn't. She was an attractive woman, petite, with long strawberry blonde hair and blue eyes. He wasn't about to get on her wrong side by admitting he didn't remember her. His leg was starting to throb like a son-of-bitch now. He leaned away from her and tried to put all of his weight on it. It held, but he guessed he'd scraped it up pretty badly under his jeans.

"Do you want me to call an ambulance?" she asked anxiously, still holding on to his arm. He shook his head.

"No, just let me get the bike back up and I'll be okay." He reached for the handle bars but felt himself sway. Jenny grabbed his arm even tighter.

"You can't possibly keep driving in this," she said, waving her other hand at the air around them. The precipitation had turned to all snow which was falling more steadily by the minute, coating the lawns and trees. Soon it would be sticking to the road.

"Well, I can't leave my bike here on the side of the road," he snapped and then softened his tone. "I'm sorry; it's not your fault. I shouldn't have been out driving in this to begin with."

She eyed him, and then the bike. "If we can get it back to my place, you can park it in my spot. "She said. "And then come upstairs and dry off. You can stay until it clears up a little."

Chris gave her an appraising look, and then broke out the Chris-Keller-Dazzler smile. "That would be great."

He climbed stiffly on the bike, and then followed her SUV slowly back down the road to the parking lot of the apartment complex. He checked Bonnie's apartment windows again: still dark. When Jenny pulled into a parking spot and motioned for him to park next to her, he was glad to see his bike would be on the far side of her car, away from the area where Bonnie parked. _No need to get her involved in any of this._ He was already working all of the possible angles of this chance meeting in his mind. For Chris Keller, there were no accidents, no coincidences, just opportunities.

Jenny got out of her car and waited for him while he got off the bike, wincing as he bent his sore leg.

"Are you sure you're okay?" she asked anxiously. "Maybe I should just drive you to the ER."

"No, no, I'll be fine," he said stoically. "I just need to get warmed up and take a look at the damage."

She looked at him dubiously. "Alright then," she said at last. "Let's get you inside."

Her apartment was the same layout as Bonnie's, but decorated in a frilly, frou-frou style that he hated. A yappy little fur-ball came running up as soon as they opened the door and he had to resist the urge to kick it across the room with his good leg. Nothing alienated a woman more than hating on their pets.

"Hush, Petie," she scolded as she ushered Chris through the door. "He's okay, he's with me." The fur-ball kept yapping so she scooped it up under one arm.

She motioned to a door just down the hallway. "There's the bathroom, there's towels inside if you want to dry off. I can get you some sweatpants and throw your jeans in the dryer."

Chris bent over to untie his boots and uttered a realistic-sounding groan of pain as if the movement hurt his leg.

"Oh, you poor baby, let me" she cooed, and putting the dog down, bent to untie heavy leather boots. Chris leaned back against the door so she could pull them off his feet. The dog had stopped barking and was sniffing suspiciously at his ankles. _If you bite me…._

"Thanks, I appreciate it," said Chris and hobbled down the bathroom, a nightmare of pink paint and ruffles. Shutting the door, he stripped off his wet clothes and examined his leg. The skin was scraped in several places and dark bruises were beginning to form, but he'd had worse. There was a knock at the door. He grabbed one of the pink fluffy towels from the rack and, wrapped it loosely—very loosely- around his waist before opening the door.

Jenny stood holding a pair of men's grey sweatpants. She looked startled at the sight of him in nothing but the towel. He ignored the proffered sweats and limped out to the living room to stretch out on the couch. "Do you have a first aid kit?" he asked when she followed him uncertainly, still holding the pants. He lifted part of the towel to show her the scrapes on his thigh and knee. Her eyes widened, but whether it was from his injuries or the more personal parts of himself that he had "accidentally" revealed, he wasn't sure. She nodded, and went back down the hall.

Petie came over and sat next to the couch, eyeing him suspiciously. Keller glared back at him. He didn't reach out his hand; animals usually didn't like him much. Jenny returned with a bottle of peroxide and a handful of cotton balls.

"Let me clean you up first," she said, moistening the cotton balls. Chris rested his head against the pillows and closed his eyes while she moved the towel and dabbed at his scrapes. He noticed that she was careful to move only the parts of the towel that were absolutely necessary and tried not to smile. Instead, he winced every now and then to keep up the charade of being in pain.

"You poor baby," she cooed again. She took the cotton balls away and returned with some antibiotic ointment and gauze. When she finished playing Florence Nightingale, she straightened up. "I'll go put your clothes in the dryer," she announced. He ignored the sweatpants she had draped over the back of the couch.

"Aren't you cold?" she asked when she came back and found him still clad in only the towel. He shrugged, knowing the motion would show off his powerful shoulders and pecs. If there was one thing Chris Keller did right, it was take care of his body.

She went to a closet and came back with a fleece throw, which she carefully draped over him and then perched herself on the edge of the armchair opposite him. "Your clothes were all muddy," she announced. "I put them in the washer; I hope you don't have to be anywhere real soon."

He shook his head.

"Were you coming to see Bonnie?" she asked after a minute. "I saw her go out a couple of hours ago."

"I knew she'd be out," he answered softly. "I was just….I don't know…driving around. Didn't want to sit home alone on Christmas Eve."

"I know what you mean," she answered. "I was out doing errands I didn't even need to do, because I didn't want to be here alone."

Chris sat up a little, throwing in a wince or two for good measure. "A pretty lady like you doesn't have a boyfriend?" he asked.

Jenny stared down at her hands, twisting her fingers together. "I do," she said. "But he's married. And of course, he's with his wife and kids right now."

"You're a nice lady; you deserve better than that," said Chris, reaching out to still her twisting fingers. She looked up at him, tears forming in her blue eyes.

"What happened with you and Bonnie?" she asked after a few minutes.

He shrugged again. "She got sick of me, I guess." He flashed her the Killer-Keller smile again. "I can be a pain in the butt."

Jenny's look clearly indicated that she couldn't imagine how anyone could get sick of someone who looked like him. She started to say something, then stopped herself and changed course. "Can I get you something to eat or drink?" she asked.

Chris smiled again. "That would be great."


End file.
